


take a chance

by doppler



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: + Mentions of other hockey players, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-17 04:25:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14825198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doppler/pseuds/doppler
Summary: The truth is, the new camp counselor is actually really cute. So far, he's managed to connect with the kids in his cabin impressively well, to the point where they, like, worship the ground he walks on a little bit, like he’s some sort of summer camp Jesus, which—it’s weird, yes, but it somehow adds to his charm.But Tyler Seguin is not letting this get into the way of winning. His ten-to-twelve-year-olds will drag Connor’s through the mud, if they have to. Maybe even literally.They haven’t really decided yet.





	take a chance

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [PuckingRare2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PuckingRare2018) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
>
>> we’re both ‘team leaders’/counselors at a summer camp and you may be hot but goddammit my collection of twelve-year-olds are going to beat yours into the dust (not underage please) 
> 
>   
> For some reason, as soon as I saw this prompt, my mind went to two movies: Parent Trap and Kronk's New Groove...and here we are: not even close to either of these! Title is from The Wild Life by Vacationer. An enormous thank you to Michi and Dell!! 

 

Having to work during summers isn’t what Tyler would define as _ideal._ He’d rather be in some sunny place, definitely well over the mid-eighties, drinking a beer under the warm Caribbean sun. But then again, Tyler is _also_ a broke college student, and the campus store he works at during the year closes during the summer, and Brownie does the same drive to his girlfriend’s house right around the time he’s supposed to be there setting up camp, so it works out well for everyone.

Besides, it’s not like kids are _bad_ by any means. They’re funny, don’t care about Tyler being eloquent when he talks, don’t need him to write up papers and present them on time. That’s all he needs, really.

 _There are_ definitely _worse places to work at_ , Tyler thinks, as Jamie wraps his arms around him in a hug that’s a little bit suffocating under the 2pm sun, but welcome nonetheless.

“Ah, I missed you too, Jamie,” Tyler says, bending down to retrieve the duffle bag he’d been forced to drop once Jamie showed up. “Hey, what the fuck happened with Max?” He asks now, suddenly remembering the longer-than-usual email that the camp owner had sent about how they’d get a couple of new counselors because they had suffered “a _great_ loss from among their lines”, which Tyler assumed was related to the (kinda _cute_ ) instagram posts Max had been uploading lately that featured him, Orion and some blonde dude.

“He eloped to Florida with his... _whatever_ , to live that Democratic, liberal gay life for the summer instead of working,” Jamie says, looking extremely amused and smug at having this information. For all that Jamie pretends to be mature, he’s actually a little bit (a _whole_ lot) of a gossip. “He’s the son of Tie Domi’s old camp rival, back when he was a counselor himself, which is why he’s not that happy about it, but also, he had to bring in new people anyways, so it’s not that bad. They seem nice. I talked to them earlier.” He finishes, and honestly, he’s right, because with Jordan _finally_ following Taylor to the States, they were short staffed.

“Oh, fresh _meat_ ,” Tyler states, giving Jamie an exaggerated lewd grin, and delights in the way Jamie looks like Tyler just killed his cat—the one he pretends is _not_ his and that he doesn’t care about. “Well, you _have_ to introduce us, Chubs!” he says, patting Jamie’s shoulder and ignoring Jamie’s attempts at either refusing his nickname, stopping Tyler from moving towards the new guys—who are just...standing there, looking both a little awkward but extremely familiar with each other—trying to curse Tyler out, or all three at the same time.

“Why does everything that comes out of your mouth just sound so _wrong_ , Segs, _Jesus_ ,” Jamie groans, and looks defeated.

“Hey! I sound perfectly fucking normal,” Tyler starts, stopping short at Jamie’s immediate side-eye. “Okay, yeah, I think it’s some kind of talent—”

“Sure, what _ever_ ,” Jamie says, shoving Tyler with his shoulder with just enough strength to make him stumble. “You’ll get to know them later, we’re having a _start of summer camp_ meeting,” he adds, before Tyler has any chance to retaliate, his voice acquiring the current camp owner’s particular enthusiastic voice tone.

“ _Fine_ , I’ll introduce myself later,” Tyler answers, and he can’t help but laugh, really, before he starts walking towards Tie’s office to get the keys to his cabin, number nine, the one he’s been in charge of since his first year. He’s carrying all of his things despite Jamie offering to help, when he sees the new counselors, not too far but also not close enough where it’d be casual to greet them, talking with Ryan over something he can’t obviously hear.

There’s two brunets, one that remarkably reminds Tyler of a raccoon, and one that has a smile maybe a little bit too big for his face, but then he’s doing a double take because there’s a blond and—

Well, _that_ one is kinda _cute._

 

* * *

 

The truth is, the new camp counselor— _Connor_ , he learns later that night—is actually really _cute_. Shifting into straight up _attractive_ territory. So far, he's managed to connect with the kids in his cabin impressively well, to the point where they, like, worship the ground he walks on a little bit, like he’s some sort of _summer camp Jesus_ , which—it’s weird, yes, but it somehow adds to his charm.

He’s slightly awkward and a little weird, looks like he maybe watches too much HGTV in his free time but—he also manages to be just the right amount of boyish and naturally _nice_ , and really, that’s really just how Tyler likes them. Down to the _he’s hotter in real life, really, I swear_ , vibes.

Plus his arms are, you know,pretty nice.

Not that he has actually said that to anyone named Jamie in an attempt to justify himself. Because, why would he.

And honestly, it’s not really his fault that Connor keeps staring at him whenever he _thinks_ Tyler isn’t aware, with a look he still can’t define, but that’s definitely intense and makes Tyler feel like he’s a little bit on fire. It’s also not his fault that the sun keeps catching on Connor’s hair in a particular way that makes it look golden, which, paired up with the frankly endearing way he laughs at one of his kids splashing him with water from the lake, is quite a deadly combo that means that Tyler can’t really look away, either.

(It’s not like Tyler is going to do anything about it here, really. Contrary to popular belief, he's a _professional_. Well, as much as a professional as he can be—and while he’s absolutely sure he’s not making the way Connor looks at him up, at the end of the day, it doesn’t really mean anything—)

 

* * *

 

He might be cute, attractive or _whatever_ , but Tyler Seguin is _not_ letting this get into the way of his cabin winning the unofficial-but-really-officially-important prank championship that’s been a running tradition ever since Tie Domi first established it in 1995, with a trophy and all, and dubiously titled it The Incredibly Elite Demonstration Of Masterful Instigations: the Tie Cup, for short, and to Tie’s delight, who’s just _weird_ enough to name a competition after himself.

And yes, the trophy might be a plastic replica of the Stanley Cup, and maybe the record is kept in a frankly ugly blue and white notebook. The _hall of fame_ set up in the dining hall is just a corkboard with pictures and there’re _rules_ that you have to follow in order to not be disqualified, some of which are frankly ridiculous—he still hasn’t figured out why kids can’t use soap for their pranks, or why is there a rule about poker when it’s the _kids_ that do the pranking—but if there’s one thing that Tyler loves as much as he loves his dog back home, it’s winning.

His ten-to-twelve-year-olds will drag Connor’s through the mud, if they have to. Maybe even literally.

They haven’t really decided yet.

 

* * *

 

So: there’s really not a literal dragging through the mud (for some reason, his kids do not feel like mud this year—pretty fucking weird, if you ask Tyler), but there’s gonna be some pretty good pranking on their side, if Tyler can say so himself. Not as good as the previous year—but there’s really no way that they can top pranking Tie and Max, and that’s okay.

“I hear Blake telling Cody to keep an eye out, that you’ve got _big_ plans,” Connor startles him out of his musings, sliding up next to Tyler in a surprisingly smooth way, helping him pile up the plastic cups from the table. He nods with his head over to where the toothless blonde menace that Tyler has known since he was just eight years old is sitting with the shy brunet Tyler has learnt is Blake’s friend from back home, heads bent over close and giggling over something that can’t be heard from where they are.

“Maybe we do,” Tyler shrugs and adds one last bright yellow cup to his pile, while attempting to look harmless as he turns to face Connor, who’s looking _right_ back at him and smiling, his golden hair plastered on his forehead in a way that shouldn’t somehow look _good_ , but it does. “Defending champions and all, you know, we want to win this back to back—”

“Hope you know that’s not going to happen,” Connor all but cuts him off, and Tyler can hear the scratch-freeze-frame in the back of his mind.

 _What the actual_ fuck. “What,” Tyler’s voice reaches squeaky territory when voicing his thoughts, but it’s not his fault if Connor just decided to be like this, whatever _this_ is—walking into Tyler’s _home_ and acting like he’s there to take what rightfully has his name on—his _kids_ names on.

“You’ve got _competition_ now,” Connor replies, like he’s watched one too many Disney Channel movies growing up, or like, Mean Girls, and _smiles_ in a way that makes Tyler want to whack him with whatever’s closest to him—which turns out to be an about-to-topple-over stack of plastic cups that he forgot were even in his hand. Fuck.

He subtly tries to stabilize the cups, putting them over onto the table and seeing out of the corner of his eye the way Connor inches his way closer to him, putting them shoulder to shoulder, before he says, conspiratorially and under his breath “unless you want our cabins to like, work together or something,” and that’s just fucking _ballsy._

It does leave Tyler pondering over Connor’s words for a moment, considering the benefits, then he remembers he can’t and curses Connor’s weird way of being charming.

“Oh no, we can’t do that, sorry dude,” Tyler says, thinking of the famous Peace Treaty Of The Nine and Seven that took place right after the first summer he worked for Bear Claw Camp—the summer where the rule against the use of glitter on any kind of prank was instituted.

The truce between his and Jamie’s cabins has lasted for two years, and really, Tyler has no intention of breaking it up and risking another high intensity war like that one that ended with The Seven victorious and Tyler finding glitter in unknown places of his body well into the first week back in Toronto.

“Well, your loss then, _Segs_ ,” Connor states, still fucking smiling, and pats Tyler’s shoulder twice, letting his hand linger for longer than is probably considered normal.

Tyler doesn’t exactly mind, though.

“We’ll see about that, _Davo_ ,” Tyler is quick to shoot back, wiggling his eyebrows, and smiling himself when he makes Connor throw his head back and laugh.

“See ya around, then,” he throws over his shoulder, before exiting the dining hall.

And, honestly, _damn_ him for having such nice shoulders to look at as he walks away. Damn him for even thinking he has a _chance_ against The Nine, and damn him for distracting Tyler from his task, and—someone coughs rather loudly, somewhere to his left, and Tyler freezes, praying for it to _not_ be Domi, and turns slowly, plastering his best and biggest please-don’t-fire-me smile—until he comes face to face with Jamie, whose eyes resemble a fucking cow’s, with how big they are.

“ _Chubs_ , my man!” Tyler says, moving in for the by now mandatory bro-hug they’ve got going on, until he remembers that his hands are full.

“Segs, my dude—” Jamie starts, blinking owlishly, his eyes shining in a particularly mischievous way that, oddly, reminds Tyler of the eyes emoji.

“What?” Tyler inquires, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

“Please keep it in your pants, _Jesus_ , at least until—you know, camp is over,” Jamie replies, looking extremely amused.

“Until _I_ —I mean, my kids and I _end_ him—uh, win respectably the trophy that rightfully belongs to me—us?” he aims for casual, again, because he’s not a fucking _quitter_ , but Jamie just _laughs_ at him, which is frankly rude.

“ _Tyler_ ,” Jamie says, once, before laughing again, and Tyler is now really fucking tempted to throw the cups at his _face_ , see if he’s still smug after that.

Since he’s not _five,_ he puts them back on the table, before replying with one single, “ _What_ ,”

“I really don’t know who decided that hiring you for this job was a good idea,” is all Jamie says before shaking his head and laughing again.

“ _Hey!_ ” Tyler exclaims, “I do a _great_ job, you out of all the people should know,” He squeaks, then fakes a cough, hoping it’s enough to distract Jamie from the way he just spoke.

“Well you’re really not doing it right now, eh?” Jamie fires back, gesturing with his head at the cups on a table by his right, and earning himself a badly aimed kick to the shin that succeeds in startling a chuckle out of him.

 

* * *

 

“Today is a really important day for us to take the lead,” Tyler starts one warm afternoon, just five days before Camp Bear Claw closes for the summer, voice as deep and booming as it can go, successfully catching the attention of most of the kids lined up in front of him, looking as serious as they can for their three-to-four feet of height and the fact that they are already giggling over what they’re about to do, which is getting the kids of Connor’s cabin back for the prank they pulled on them two nights ago.

He goes down the loosely formed line, and presents each kid with one can of silly string that he managed to smuggle in _just_ in case—they were on sale right after Halloween, okay? _Sue_ him for thinking ahead—and anyways, it was Blake’s idea to get them right after their time at the crafts and art part of the day, where they’d already probably be covered in paint, so it’s not like Tyler forced this onto the kids or anything.

“Remember, kids: have no mercy, make me proud! I’ll join you in a second,” Tyler says, once they all start to file out, of the cabin, laughing a _sir yes sir!_ on their way out, hands behind their backs so the cans aren’t as obvious, nevermind that the rest of the kids milling around _will_ see them. He follows suit, holding his own can, ready to _blast_ Connor in the face, or whichever body part he manages first.

And honestly—they get all of them _so_ good, that he’s still giggling when he thinks about the look on Connor’s face when the first bout of silly string had hit him.

Once he makes sure they're settling in for an early night—every cabin was having an early morning because of a couple of tournaments involving dodgeball, though, he goes to take a quick shower—and feels immensely thankful about Jamie’s cabin being right next to his, so he can go peacefully as long as he lets Jamie know beforehand that he’s going to do that.

He honestly doesn’t realize there’s someone else in the showers when he starts to get undressed, right until he hears a loud cough that startles him.

“ _You_ —” Connor starts, accusative and trying to look a little bit more dignified, which is kind of hard when you’re dripping wet, with no silly string in sight but _still_ half covered in blue and purple paint.

“You!” Connor exclaims, and Tyler smiles in that way he’s sure will rile Connor up further.

“Me?” Tyler says, pointing at his bare chest with the closest thing to an innocent expression that he can muster up, and notices with amusement—and something else that he can’t quite place yet, that makes his stomach feel all kinds of _good_ weird—the fact that Connor’s eyes follow his finger and stay there for a fraction longer than they should, and then inch up to his face slowly, right until they meet his own eyes.

 _Okay_ then.

Tyler notices now that Connor’s hair is almost covering his eyes, that look strangely different under the changing room lights. It takes a split second until Tyler is thinking about how the once bright blue splotches of paint along his arms are now paler, softer, inviting—how he wants to run his fingertips through the skin marred with freckles, for a reason he can’t yet explain.

“You!” Connor repeats, pointing a finger at Tyler now, and manages to shake Tyler out of his reverie and make him go back to his first line of thought, which is all the amusing things he could say about him, things he could add to the mental list he keeps.

He gets more than he bargained for, when Connor continues speaking, looking extremely rattled and feeling probably too fucking bold over the fact that camp is soon ending, “may be hot or _whatever_ but god _dammit_ my collection of talented kids _will_ beat yours into the _dust_ ,” Connor adds, completely throwing Tyler off his rhythm, effectively stopping the snarky remark that was about to exit his lips.

Tyler’s not gonna lie—he’s probably gaping a little bit. He’s also feeling fucking _flattered_.

He’s still winning, though.

 

* * *

 

 

Spoiler alert: they _don’t_ win. Neither of them. Because Dylan fucking _Strome_ manages to prank every single cabin, before getting Connor’s and Tyler’s _together_ on the same day, at the same time, for a big finale on the _last_ day of camp that involves water balloons actually filled with— _thankfully_ —water-based paint, followed quickly by an attack of confetti. He’s sure it will all go onto the records book that they should probably start—he should talk to Domi about it, actually—and, if he thinks about it objectively, it’s impressive—but right now he’s tired after helping his kids get clean, and covered in dried paint and itchy confetti, making his way to the bathroom and hoping for no one to be there to see him maybe fall asleep under the shower stream...a

But, you know, today is probably not his day, because the first thing he sees when he walks there is Connor’s barely painted back, and his red and orange splattered arms—a contrast to the last time they were in this same situation.

He says nothing, though, and goes to his locker, opening it silently to retrieve his shampoo and soap, shedding his clothes and walking right into the showers.

He loses himself a little bit under the water, doesn’t even care that he’s in there long enough for it to get cold—it’s bonfire night, he’ll be fine soon—and gets out clean, in a daze, walking on automatic pilot to the changing room.

“I guess Stromer took that one, eh?” Connor breaks the comfortable silence once Tyler is putting his shirt over his head.

“Don’t look at me, he’s _your_ friend,” he’s quick to quip back as he closes his locker, but he’s actually smiling now.

“ _Hey_ —” Connor says, indignantly, looks like he’s about to go on a rant about how Dylan should be everyone’s fucking friend or something.

“He did get us all good, though,” Tyler adds, before Connor has time to say anything, and watches as Connor’s chest deflates a little bit.

“Does this mean we can stop battling it out now?” Connor asks, after a beat. He’s walking closer to where Tyler is, fully clothed, his slippers squeaking against the floor.

“Truce?” Tyler fires back, stretching his hand out.

“I was hoping for a little bit more than that,” Connor replies, grabbing Tyler’s extended right with his left, and pulls him forward, bringing them close. He’s smiling, that tiny smile with soft eyes that Tyler’s seen a couple times, just never really aimed at him, and—it’s really nice. He’s about to ask Connor if maybe he wanted to meet up before the next summer for one hockey game or something, when Connor’s leaning in, brushing his lips against Tyler’s softly, once.

“ _Oh_ ,” Tyler says, eloquently, before placing his palm on the back of Connor’s neck and pulling him closer for a longer kiss this time, hands still linked together, because of _course._

And he technically _shouldn’t_ , he knows, but camp is about to end, and really, he learnt recently that Connor actually lives in Toronto, which made the seed of hope grow exponentially faster over the past days, and even more now, with Connor smiling once they break the kiss after what feels like not enough, but all the time they have.

“So, Toronto, uh?” Connor asks, suddenly sounding a mixture of shy and _nervous_ that’s frankly endearing, making Tyler smile.

He can’t help but loop an arm around Connor’s shoulders. “Definitely Toronto,” Tyler replies, and starts walking out into the camp, the noise of the outside filtering in as he talks to Connor about maybe hitching a ride with him, Mitch and Dylan if there’s still a place, of course.


End file.
